A Study of Daryl Dixon
by Panja Mysy
Summary: Carol scans a certain redneck, from head to toe :)
1. Chapter 1

**Just a little something I felt like putting together. Hope you like it!**

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Carol loved to look at Daryl Dixon, and not just look at, but study intensely. He was her favorite piece of art, perfectly imperfect.

She would begin her appreciation at his feet, usually always in his tan boots. She admire the sturdy footing he always maintained, his ability to move quickly, to step lightly as he tracked prey, the way his heel would make contact with the door he was kicking in, forceful and powerful...and that always got her thinking about his legs.

Good God his legs...

One of her favorite parts of Daryl Dixon was his legs. Long, strong, sturdy and well muscled under those tattered old cargo pants. She loved watching him crouch to look at tracks, the material of his cargos stretching over his thighs. She loved when he ran, when he swung them over his bike, when he walked...she could just imagine the muscles moving under his pale skin. Speaking of skin, she adored the way his knees poked out of the holes that had been worn through there.

But as nice as Daryl's legs were...the higher Carol's eyes would go, the better.

Carol couldn't say enough about the man's butt. That perfect, tight, beautiful ass of his made her heart skip a beat whenever she took notice...which was quite often. When he would lean over she thought she would pass out from the view and she wanted to reach out and touch it every time.

Something simple that made her heart palpitate was the way his pants hung low on his hips, his belt had become less supporting over the time the world had changed because he'd lost his beer belly and was solid muscle now. Every once in a while, if his shirt rode up, Carol could see a bump of a hip bone and, good Lord Almighty, was THAT a beautiful sight. Almost as beautiful as the little line of dark hair she would glimpse at the same time, disappearing into the front of those loose pants...to the one part of Daryl Carol was MOST curious about.

Oh yes, Carol admire THAT part of him a lot. However, the bagginess of his cargo pants tended to keep him well hidden...mostly. Sometimes she could make out the curves as he walked or if he stood a certain way or was sitting down and she knew he had to have seen her staring at one point or another...especially those times in the mornings when that bulge was especially pronounced.

Carol had seen Daryl Dixon shirtless a few times, usually on laundry day when he would grudgingly hand over his clothes with a grunt, wrapped up in a blanket instead of pants. His stomach was flat and taut, his ribs slightly pronounced from years of hunger, his chest wasn't very pronounced but she still found herself eyeing his spattering of dark hair there that became a trail down to where the blanket was wrapped. His skin on his torso was pale and perfect, a tattoo across his left chest with a name she figured was important to him.

Daryl's back was something else entirely. Broad shoulders and muscles that rippled all the way down to his hips, his waist tapered in resulting in a perfect V shape. Two tattooed demons crawled over his right shoulder blade. Carol saw the scars, of course, but they were anything but ugly or disfiguring to her...they were a sign of how far he'd come from what he used to be, a symbol of his inner strength that he had developed in the course of receiving those scars. Carol wanted to kiss each and every one of those grey and pink puckered lines and tell him he was beautiful...maybe someday she would.

Then her eyes would go to those perfect arms of his. The perfection began at his pale, freckle specked deltoid muscles and continued on down to his thick, rippling biceps and triceps. Carol sometimes found things for Daryl to do that required the use of these specific muscles, just so she could watch the way they bugled out from his effort, that vein on the front of his shoulder popping out, that little half hidden deamon on the inside of his arm, the way his muscles tensed and moved under that perfect skin...it was her secret guilty pleasure to watch Daryl lift things. His forearms were different, the skin there was darkly tanned from the constant sun they received, but no less impressively muscled and Carol loved grabbing onto them when he would help her up onto something of to help her stand to her feet. Any excuse to touch Daryl's arms, Carol took gratefully.

The man's hands though...they were fascinating to her. Carol had felt the strength in those hands, the rough calloused skin of his palms, the firm grip...but she also knew there was a tenderness and softness about them as well. She'd seen the way those hands had held Judith, brushing her feathery hair from her forehead. She'd seen the way those hands could work delicately like when he was making new bolts for his crossbow, pick a lock, clean a gun...Daryl's hands could do anything. She loved the little star tattoo on his hand just above his thumb and the tiny heart on the inside of his wrist, delicate and so unlike him...she often wondered what they meant to him.

Carol had to admit...she had a bit of a neck fetish. She always had appreciated a good, solid neck with defined landmarks. Daryl had them. His clavicle bones formed that perfect hollow of his throat underneath a prominent Adam's apple that she loved t watch when he talked. And the muscles of his neck were strong and pronounced, making long and thin lines down from his ears.

Speaking of ears, Carol loved his ears. Daryl's ears stuck out from under his hair a lot and Carol loved how round and small they were, another thing about him that was oddly delicate.

His hair was another thing she appreciate. When she had first met him, it had been a sandy blonde color and very short...but as it had grown the past year, she loved it. It had darkened and gotten long, dangling over his ears and into his beautiful eyes...she knew the darkness of it probably had something to do with not washing it for a long time, but she thought the color suited him better than it had when he was blonde. Even though she knew it was pretty dirty, she still wanted to run her hands through it almost every day.

The kicker though, the all around best part of the beautiful masterpiece of a man he was, had to be his face. The strong jawline and pronounced cheekbones, covered in patchy stubble and curly dark facial hair, that small, rounded nose that was another one of those delicate things about him, those thin lips that she just loved to see curled up into a smile, that beauty mark to the left of his upper lip, the perfect arch of his eyebrows...and those eyes.

His eyes were Carol's favorite thing. Her ABSOLUTE favorite thing. They were piercing, they were deep, they were intense...they were the shining windows of his beautiful soul. Deep blue in color, shining out from the dark shadow of the hair that almost constantly hung in his face, Carol felt that he could see inside her, into the deepest part of her that even she didn't know about. Daryl could comfort her with a look, silence her with a look, convey understanding, trust, confidence and respect with a look.

And sometimes, combined with that smile of his, she swore he was showing her love with a look.

Yes...looking at this man never got old. He was everything beautiful in the world to her.

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**There you go :) Did you like it? Should I add anything? Change anything?**

**Let me know how this goes over in your heads :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Got a few requests to do this from Daryl's POV. Well, Carol is so adorable so this is an excellent idea! We all know Daryl sneaks his peeks ;)**

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There she goes again, doin' that thing she does...but I guess EVERYTHING she does makes me feel like this so what's the difference?

Merle used to call her "mousy" and I used to agree, but Merle never really took the time to see her like I do. There ain't nothing mousy about her anymore, not this strong, kickass, beautiful woman.

I have to admit, sometimes I just have to stop and get a good long look at her. It's kind of...addicting.

Sometimes she likes to kick back and slip out of her boots and let those small, cute feet of hers breathe. I know it's weird but sometimes I just want to go over and rub them for her. I really want to take a hold of them and just get a closer look as her cute toes and rub the soreness out of her heels. Maybe I have a foot fetish? If I do, I don't give a shit, I like it.

She's got great legs. GREAT legs. They're so long and slender, but they're SO strong. Once I saw her in a pair of shorts and I thought my brain was gonna fry...her calf muscles are long lean and defined, her knees are just a great connector to those sexy as hell thighs of hers. Solid and smooth and perfect...and it's so frustrating not to be able to touch them!

One day back before the prison, I was walking behind Carol on the road and I was just kind of staring at the pavement and I looked up and I looked at Carol's ass for the first time, the first of many. Damned if I didn't want to reach out and grab it right then and there, but I knew I shouldn't so I just contented myself with staying behind her the whole day, watching in awe at the swaying movement of her hips and the way her butt muscles worked with each step. Shameless, I know, but don't tell me you ain't ever done it!

I ain't ever seen Carol shirtless, but I'd sure as hell like to! Some people say she's skinny, but who isn't these days? I don't think she's skinny, she's perfect. Sometimes she'll lean over and I'll get a glimpse down her shirt...and that woman doesn't wear a bra, for cryin' out loud! I haven't ever actually seen her entire chest, but I seen enough to know I want to see more, want to see AND feel. I bet she's soft as silk. Merle used to say she "ain't got nothin' to offer in the bood department", and she IS pretty small chested, but I ain't never been picky about it. Why be picky about something so awesome?

Merle also used to comment about her hair, or lack thereof back then. I see now why she did it, though...she told me once that Ed used to grab it, that mother fucker. She shaved it short to make it one less painful experience. But now? Now she's getting it back and it's so fucking beautiful that I want to grab it in a totally different way. Grey hair makes some people look old, but on Carol, it looks like pure silver threads of perfection and I'd give anything to be free to run my hands through it anytime I wanted...or any time she let me.

Carol's arms and hands are very special. Not only are they strong, capable and lovely; they are gentle, caring and comforting. Many times it was the touch of her hand, the feel of being wrapped in her arms, the brush of her fingertips that rescued my mind from the darkness around me. There's something almost magic in her touch and if those innocent, gentle touches have such an effect on me...I can't help but wonder how it would feel to have those hands touch me with a deeper, more physical purpose.

Carol has a face like no one I've ever seen before, you can see exactly what's on her mind just by the way she looks at you. She's got those lips that I love getting smiles out of, but are so often tightly locked in a serious frown or solid, jaw-locked, focused line. Her nose doesn't really convey anything but it's cute anyway, small and rounded at the tip like a little button. It's her eyes that do the talking though...one look and she can having me flying or she could be destroying me. There is nothing more I want to do than get that look out of her as often as I can. I've only seen it once, when she saved us from Terminus and I snatched her up in a hug. She pulled back and looked me right in the eyes...with that look. I want to be the cause of that look again, and again, and again!

But, of all the things I love about Carol...it's her soul I love the most. The way she just knows me even when I don't know myself. Somehow, and I'll never know why, she chose to look at me when no one else would and take a hold of me and not let go. She will never let go...even when one of us goes, I know that grip of hers has left an impression and an effect that will never fade.

I can only hope I can do the same for her. I only hope maybe one day I'll be able to tell her all this and maybe we could be more than we are now.

But it's probably wishful thinking. A woman like her...would never want a man like me.

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**Little does he know, right?! But, you know something, I am perfectly ok with their relationship as it stands in the show. I love their private moments and their loving gestures and their small touches and their obvious, yet subtle, love for eachother. I don't WANT a big display type of romance for these two...I want it to be just like it is only cannon and official.**


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